Chapter 32

quinn picks me up and doesn’t say anything. Not new for him, but I can tell he wants to speak. He keeps looking at me and nodding and then back at the road.

“Just say it, man.”

He screws up his face like he doesn’t know what I’m talking about.

“Really? You’re going to pretend there’s nothing you’d like to get off your chest right now?”

He works his jaw. “True. But that’s not what I was thinking about.”

“All right. What then?”

“You look good, G. For real. Like I said, we ain’t done, but so far, so good.”

Q doesn’t look at me when he says this, and that’s fine with me. When I feel like my voice is strong enough I say, “Thank you.”

We pull into the parking lot and there are signs and banners and Warrior images covering every possible spot along our front entrance. This continues throughout the school, around the field, and all over town. We are all a part of this Warrior homage, and I have to wonder if one little film is enough to tear it all down.

“What about Ollie? He coming back?” Q asks.

“Don’t think so. He’s going to spend the rest of the year at home. Least that’s what he said.”

“He’s going to keep working out, though?”

“Even if we have to move the program to his house.”

We pass by Alva and Gilbey and a handful of minions. “Warrior tournament, Dun! Aren’t you glad to have seen what we’re capable of?” Alva shouts.

“Yeah, I just can’t wait until everyone else gets to see it, too.”

He gives me his dead eyes as an answer.

“Was that a good idea?” Quinn says.

“Part of the plan.”

“If you say so.”

We head into school and Callaghan’s at the front door. “Mr. Dunsmore. Just the man I wanted to see.”

“Good luck, G,” Quinn whispers as Callaghan directs me toward his office.

“Sit,” Callaghan says as he and I enter his office. I sit, and he proceeds to stare at me for a solid thirty seconds. I scan for anything else to look at, but all he has are the damn lacrosse pictures. They don’t help.

“I understand that in spite of everything you went ahead and created that video for Mr. Mallory.”

“I keep my promises,” I say.

“Hmm.” Callaghan sits on the edge of his desk. “Not that it matters. We won’t be showing it today.”

My mouth goes dry. “Why’s that?”

“I’m pretty sure you know the answer to that question. Your track record makes me wary of whatever you touch. You’ve handed off one video, but who’s to say you haven’t altered things so that you show another? A little sleight of hand?”

I will myself to stay calm. “I understand your point, sir, but I worked hard on that project, and Mr. Mallory is thrilled with it.” Those were his exact words when we watched it together on Wednesday, thrilled. And Ella agreed, after much protesting, to leave her name out of this. One casualty is enough.

“Yes, but you’ll have a chance to show off your, talents, next week with your documentary. I think any more would be overexposure. Don’t you?”

I know I have to agree, but that doesn’t make it any easier. He called our bluff, but we knew he would. “I guess.”

Callaghan stands. “That will be all, Mr. Dunsmore. I have an extremely busy day ahead.”

“Yes, sir, but may I ask one question?”

He doesn’t look at me when he says, “If you must,” having already turned his attention to his computer.

“Why the hazing?”

He clicks his mouse and doesn’t respond.

“Because I have a theory, but it could be just some stupid story I’ve concocted.”

Callaghan turns and his face is his mask of evil. “That wouldn’t surprise me. That’s the way it is with your films. All the little lies you weave. It’s a lazy man’s storytelling. You’re too busy with making it fit your premise to see that the details that get you there matter just as much as the whole.”

This is it. I’ve got him engaged. Now or never. “Then tell me if I’ve got my details straight. Mallory is the money maker. His devotion to the programs is second to none because of his son. To both lacrosse and to tech. He brings it in and then Dr. Philmore directs it. And as long as you keep winning, it’s all good.”

Callaghan stares at me and I brace for the impact. “You can’t let this go, can you, in spite of what I just said?”

“You just told me I was a lazy storyteller, not getting my facts straight, and here I am asking for them and you’re telling me to let it go?”

Callaghan stills, no doubt measuring what he intends to say. “In a different context I may have had respect for you, Mr. Dunsmore. You’ve got a solid mind. But in this one, the only one that matters, I feel nothing but disgust at your inabilities. You cannot seem to rein yourself in. You are a slave to your own desires. You have no ability to serve a power higher than you. Your rituals are all self-serving.”

He’s right, I admit it. I have for so long served my wants, my desires. But not anymore. “Thank you,” I say, and walk out of his office.

• • •

“If you can eat, the chicken salad is a good idea.”

I turn to Q, who’s standing behind me. “Yeah. Thanks.” It’s all I can manage.

We get our lunches and sit with Ella, who looks as strung out as I feel.

“You okay?” I ask.

“I think we’re past the point where you get to ask that question.” She stabs a cinnamon-covered apple slice with her fork and bites it in half.

Quinn eats his salad and looks at us, but says nothing.

We’ve kept him in the dark because it’s just easier. The less anyone knows the better. But it now feels like Ella and I are sharing this enormous burden, and we both want to just be done.

“Could it get any more pathetic than this?” Gilbey sits down with us, followed by Alva.

“I hear we’re not going to get to see the film you made for Mallory.” Alva stares at me, a grin emerging.

“What?” Ella asks.

“Callaghan’s decision,” I say, and look away.

“I bet it would have been stupid, anyway. You didn’t even get us kicking your ass,” Gilbey says and laughs.

Alva clears his throat and shoots him a look. Gilbey ducks his head.

“There’s still time. The documentary contest is next week.” I bite my salad, even though my face feels numb.

Alva considers this. “You really are that stupid, aren’t you? Handing me all the ammo I need ahead of time.”

“My God, you’re so much better than us. I should bow down or some shit. Or is that eat shit?” Ella says.

Alva looks at her like he might an opponent. “Who the fuck asked you to open your mouth?”

Gilbey laughs, Alva glares, and Ella glows red. I pray she doesn’t lose it.

“I’ll speak whenever I feel like it. Thanks. Use that line on your bitch girlfriend, but don’t try that shit with me.”

Alva smiles so wide and his eyes grow so cold he could be Callaghan’s child. “I’ll let her know you said that.”

Ella fades to pink, but says, “Don’t worry, she already knows.”

Alva loses his grin, smart enough to know there’s something to what Ella’s said. He turns his attention to me, though. “As soon as this tournament is over, I’m coming after you. Mallory came in too early. I didn’t get to finish. Not with you or Double Stuffed. Thought you would have understood that message. Shows how stupid you really are.” He turns to Ella. “And don’t think for one second we don’t have things in store for you. Once a slut, always a slut.” Alva and Gilbey stand and then walk away.

Quinn’s shaking he’s so mad, and Ella’s staring into space, possibly plotting a murder. My salad is not even a third eaten, but there’s no way I can get through another piece. I already feel like I’ve bitten off more than I can chew.

• • •

The auditorium is bubbling with noise. The entire school’s piled in for the last hour of today. Instead of wanting them to all shut up, I’d be fine if we kept on like this for the rest of the hour. Nervous is as pathetic a description for my state as dick is for Alva.

Callaghan stands at the mic and raises his hand. The crowd settles. “Let me remind you that this is still the school day and that you are being held to our code of conduct.” He scans the crowd. “Now, Mr. Mallory has a few words.”

Ella and I both take a breath before the booster club president takes the mic. “Today marks the beginning of a long-standing tradition at our school, the Warrior tournament.”

The school erupts with applause and Mallory smiles. “And this year, we have something special for you.”

I watch Callaghan, who leans just so slightly forward at this.

“Many of you know that my son, Max Mallory, was a star lacrosse player here. He died serving our country, but attributed his successful military career to the discipline and work ethic he received through lacrosse under Mr. Callaghan.” Mallory extends a hand to our principal, who attempts to arrange his face into a smile.

The room booms with applause.

Mallory adjusts the mic and looks down. “Recently, a fellow student, after having spent time with our lacrosse team, asked if he could create a film to honor Max’s memory and to serve as inspiration going into our tournament.” Mallory pauses. “That student is Greg Dunsmore.”

All heads turn to find me, and because of my size, most find their target, especially Callaghan, whose face is now ablaze.

Behind me, Quinn squeezes my shoulder. “Don’t know what’s going down, G, but keep breathing.”

“I have seen the video, and it is simply a stunning tribute. We owe Greg a round of applause for his impressive ability.” The school claps but then chants, “Dun the Ton!” over and over. Mallory waves them to stop and I search for Alva. He looks as if he’s ready to bolt from his seat. Probably right for my face.

Ella reaches out and grabs my hand. She squeezes and doesn’t let go.

“Well then, could we dim the lights?” Mallory asks, looking up to the booth. As the lights dim, he steps away from the podium and Callaghan rushes to him.

Their exchange is tight, but it’s obvious that our principal is unhappy. He says something and Mallory shakes his head. Mallory ignores Callaghan, and he speaks into the mic. “For the town. For our school. For Max. For all of us Warriors.” He steps back and sits amid cheers.

Ella and I knew it would come to this, that we’d have to go to Mallory, that Callaghan would never let my work be shown. But once Mallory saw it, I knew the plan would work. And when I explained to him that I figured Callaghan would stop him, he said, “I’d like to see him try.” Because there is no one in this town that would deny Mr. Mallory a chance to showcase our most beloved hero. I’m just sorry that no one here will get to see that video.

The lights go off and just as the film begins I say to Ella, “Whatever happens, I’m proud of you.”

Her title pops: Film This. No one understands. But they will.

In the movie Fight Club, the main character works the camera at a movie theater. While there, he splices brief shots of porn into children’s movies. The images are subtle, yet not subtle at all. They’re jarring because of what they show, but also because the audience has to ask itself, Did I really see what I think I did? It’s a brilliant tactic, and Ella has used it effectively.

The first image is the bros dropping from the balls striking them in the faces and guts. Then it’s right to the drills I filmed with the GoPro. The school shrugs but no more. The bros surround Callaghan, and his sermon about ritual fills the auditorium. I see Mallory’s confusion and hope that he doesn’t interrupt this, because this is not the film he saw. He’s rooted in place, and seems intrigued rather than upset.

On screen, following Callaghan’s speech, there’s a brief clip of a boy in compression shorts and a full nelson. Callaghan’s voice is just audible, “What’s going on here?”

Sure, it could have been part of the film, his voice, just background noise, but that image, no way. Heads turn now.

Back to drills for a minute and all is settled. I squeeze Ella’s hand. She’s placid, watching her film as if it’s someone else’s.

The next scene is of the bros, Alva talking about the strength of the team and the sport at the school and then it cuts away to two boys being force fed, and the contents on the spoon are very brown.

Someone in the audience yells, “Hold the fuck up!” but the film keeps going. More shots, extolling the camaraderie of the team, and then the screen darkens and I’m glad the lights are off because there’s just the perfect amount of saturation in order to see the outline of our gym, a wall of bros wrapping around, and me in the middle, facing Alva and Gilbey. I watch the first punch but have to look away. Ella puts her arm around my shoulders. I’ve watched this enough to be desensitized, but not here, not now.

The next scene, though, is the clincher and I pull myself together for it.

Callaghan stands with a loaded lacrosse stick, ready to fire, as the underclassmen chant: Our allegiance is to the Warriors, our bodies are weapons . . .

“Watch and learn, boys,” Callaghan says, and fires the first ball into a lax bro.

As it was in the gym when I recorded this, it is the same now—stunned silence.

Callaghan whips the ball at the next bro’s head and he goes down.

“The words. Let me hear them! Your tournament is right around the corner. Without discipline, you will disappoint. If you disappoint, this will only get worse.”

The drill continues, and around us, the audience flinches and cries out until it’s over and just our principal is on the screen, and he speaks his truth.

“Put away your fear of being hurt and replace it with your desire to inflict pain. Then, and only then, will you ever succeed.”

Next, Ella has filled a black screen with simple white text:

pain is the most efficient of teachers, its lessons never lost, even when we are.

There is silence. There is Ella’s hand holding mine. There is my heart pounding. And there are three sensations. One, elation over having pulled it off. Two, guilt because of how Mr. Mallory must feel. Three, fear of whatever’s next.

Callaghan strides to the center of the stage and screams into the mic. “Turn it off!” But the film has already ended and Callaghan stands against the dark screen with the title of the film burning over his shoulder. “Lights!” They pop on and he surveys the crowd, who are all talking and pointing and looking confused and angry. Mallory is stupefied.

“Silence! I said, silence!” Callaghan’s voice booms from the speakers and the school obeys. I can only see his profile, but it’s enough to notice how hard he’s gripping the mic and how much he’s grinding his teeth.

“We should go,” I whisper to Ella.

“It’s too late, Greg, there’s nowhere to go.” She doesn’t sound upset at this, just matter of fact. And she’s right. We keep our seats.

“What you all just saw is a betrayal. That film was obviously peppered with a misguided attempt to cast our lacrosse team in a negative light. We all know about Greg’s past films, his lies! Therefore, all of this is circumspect.” Callaghan seethes while staring across the sea of students.

Someone yells, “Bullshit!” Another, “Show it again!”

There’s a resounding swell of agreement and then a chant begins, “Show it again! Show it again!”

My heart swells. The one pumping the blood through me so that I can appreciate what is happening, so that I can appreciate the girl whose hand I’m holding. I feel swollen with pride in our work, and what it has done. Because these kids know. I’m sure comments are already on Facebook, Twitter, and wherever else. As much as I hate these kids for all the bullshit they’ve put me through. It’s not all of them, only a fraction. The majority is rising up now. And holy hell, I helped make this happen.

Callaghan stupidly calls for silence again. It’s not happening. He looks around for assistance, but there’s no one around, only the bros, who look equally pissed and confused. “Goddamn you, Dunsmore!” he screams and slams the mic onto the stage.

That does it. The room is quiet once more.

Callaghan stands at the edge and finds me in the crowd.

“Don’t you think for one second that you’ll get away with this! I will have you expelled from this school. You can kiss any thought of film school good-bye. You fat, conniving little shit. You will not undermine all I have created,” he snaps, and Alva and Gilbey pounce.

Callaghan’s not really saying and doing what he seems to be? Right? But he is. And that must mean he just doesn’t care anymore. I know that feeling all too well. With this realization comes fear greater than any I’ve felt before. Callaghan, unwound, is capable of anything.

“These boys are going to carry you out of here, and they will tear you from limb to limb. I hope you’re satisfied.”

His words trail as Alva and Gilbey approach. I release Ella’s hand and stand. If this is what it’s going to come down to, so be it.

Alva punches me in the gut and I double over. Gilbey follows with an uppercut to my nose. Blood sprays. They back away at this, and I’m able to stand. Quinn jumps in.

“All right, G. Let’s do this.”

I grab him before he can throw. “No. Not this way. Let me do my thing.”

“What?”

“Trust me.”

Quinn gives the slightest of nods, but I know he’s going to break his hand on one of their faces if this doesn’t work.

Alva’s smiling and Gilbey’s bouncing on his toes.

“Go ahead. Keep throwing your punches. Knock me out again. Tea bag me, again. Beat me until I’m unconscious and keep at it until I’m dead.” I step closer. “Because you’re only doing what you’re told. It’s not really your fault.”

Alva works his jaw. “The fuck are you talking about?”

“He did this. Callaghan. I know all about it. All about you. What’s been done. You are a warrior, Andrew. You’ve done your job. You’ve paid the price to get here. You have lived by the code. But none of that matters now. The higher order you serve is gone.”

Alva’s eyes glisten, and it must be from anger, from the restraint it’s taking him to listen to me. But something tells me it’s not. “How, Dun? How doesn’t it matter? How is it all gone? Your stupid film has done nothing. Like always. The tournament’s here. We are going to win State. We will be champions, again.”

“No. No, you won’t.” I turn and I see what I knew I would: a school that figured out the instructions behind Ella’s film title, because we knew it would come to this, too.

Almost everyone has a phone in hand, recording.

I turn back to Alva. “Because we’ve just filmed this.”